


It's just a reflex

by orphan_account



Series: Allergy!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if the Apocalypse isn't enough to deal with, Dean develops a strange allergy that Sam and Castiel team up to diagnose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's just a reflex

The first time it happens they're scoping out an abandoned house. It's not for a case, just a place to stay for the night because the Apocalypse doesn't really leave much time for hustling cash.

The house is big, once upon a time it must have been nice place. But a couple of the windows have cracked and let the rain in, dirt and leaves carpeting the floor and there's mold on the walls. There's a loud _creak_ from upstairs, and all of the snap to attention simultaneously.

Dean goes into a sneezing fit.

Sam throws him a look that says clearly '_Worst Timing Ever, Dean_' and heads off to check it out. After a confused moment, Castiel follows to back him up. By time time they both get back Dean has mostly recovered, but his eyes are red and he's sniffling every couple of seconds.

"Allergies?" Sam asks skeptically. Neither of them have ever had seasonal allergies, but there is a whole lot of mold and dust and crap in the air.

Dean just waves him off. "No idea. We clear?"

"Yeah, probably was just the house settling."

They lay down salt and protective sigils just in case, and clear enough floor space in the living room to lay down their sleeping bags.

"I uh, I can take first watch so you can...do whatever it is you do." Dean offers uncertainly. Castiel hasn't been with them long enough yet that he's become part of the routine.

"I will remain here. You should sleep."

Castiel folds his hands behind his back, stands quietly alert. Sam and Dean share a look, Sam shrugs. There's probably no point in arguing with a stubborn angel. Sam and Dean tuck into their sleeping bags, fall asleep while Castiel keeps watch.

*

The second time they're in the middle of a brutal fight, five demons against the three of them and Sam is forced to redefine his idea of 'worst timing ever.'

Castiel is pinned down, taking on two at once, and intermittent flashes of holy light and harsh screams are the only signs of progress Dean can track from all the way across the room. Sam takes down one with the knife, cuts across the demon's stomach and finishes him off with a slice to the throat. He turns to find another demon already approaching, grabs the fallen jug of holy water up from the floor and flips the knife to Dean with a shouted warning.

Dean fumbles but manages to catch it, he sure as hell can't get enough breath to say an exorcism right now. Between sneezes he dodges and darts, manages to take down another one just as Sam finishes exorcising his own. One of Castiel's opponent's is already on the ground, demon exorcised and host clearly dead. The last one goes out with an agonized scream and a flash of light.

They all stand for a minute, panting for air. Dean starts sneezing again.

Sam looks up. "Dude, seriously?"

Castiel watches with a concerned expression, like he's trying to figure out if Dean's sudden allergy is some kind of demonic curse. Dean looks up through watering eyes and gives Sam a heartfelt middle finger.

*

They're driving through Pawtucket, Rhode Island when Sam brings it up for the first time.

"Maybe it's a thing with light. Like how people sneeze when they look directly into the sun."

"I'm not allergic to _light_, Sam. It's just some freak thing, I'm sure it won't happen again."

Castiel is silent in the backseat, choosing not to weigh in on the issue.

*

"For the last time, Sam, _no._"

Dean makes his way back to the car quickly, like Sam won't just catch up to him. Castiel gets there first, braces his hand on Dean's shoulder and looks at him with a serious expression. It's the same look he gave Dean when he told him about the 66 seals, like this is a life and death matter instead of Dean just not wanting to take a bunch of pills.

Still, it's hard to win an argument against an opponent who just stands there and stares at him.

"C'mon, that stuff makes me all sleepy."

"I believe Sam has purchased the non-drowsy formula." Sometimes Dean forgets that Castiel is accustomed to taking things at face value. He rolls his eyes.

"They lie. They want you to buy their stuff, so they make the little pills a different color and tell you it's new and improved. It's the same damn stuff." Okay, so Dean's familiar enough with drug ingredients to know that's not technically true, but Castiel probably doesn't know that. Still, he feels an uncomfortable squirm of guilt in his gut for lying to the angel.

Sam is standing across the parking lot, still clutching his little drug store bag full of opiates. Castiel glances back at him, like he's looking for cues. Whatever script they've prepared has already taken his reluctance into account. Traitors.

"Would there be any harm in trying?" Castiel asks seriously. Dean is half tempted to tell him yes, actually, if he takes those pills he will surely perish. Or something equally dramatic and full of crap. He takes one look at Castiel's pathetically hopeful expression and caves.

"Oh Jes- Fine. Hand 'em over, McCoy." He holds a hand out towards Sam, who's clearly been listening the whole time. Sam plunks the grocery bag into Dean's hand with a hopeful smile. Castiel finally lets his hand drop from Dean's shoulder, looking relieved.

"So what, that makes you Kirk?" Sam asks as he heads to the passengers side of the car.

"Of course I'm Kirk, I'm awesome." Dean opens the drivers side door and hooks a thumb back towards Castiel.

"He's Spock."

They both get in and turn around to find Castiel already sitting in the back seat. Dean huffs, that will never stop being disturbing. Sam turns to the front, flips open his laptop to bring up the info on their latest lead. "Nope, he's Uhura," he mutters under his breath.

"What? That makes no sense, dude. Did you even watch the show?"

Sam just shakes his head and refuses to explain himself.

*

Two months later and they've made no progress finding God or Anna's magic knife, but Dean can't exactly say that nothing's changed.

He doesn't have any more sneezing fits, but Sam keeps a pack of Benadryl in the glove box anyway. He pushes them on Dean at the first sign of a sniffle and Castiel always backs him up. Dean is outnumbered and life is unfair.

They're still cris-crossing the country on back roads, following leads and hunting anything they happen to bump into along the way. Sam spends a solid two weeks making excuses to get his own motel room or spend the night elsewhere before Dean confronts him about it, half terrified that Ruby had somehow come back from the dead and is dosing his brother behind his back.

Dean knows that if anyone could do it, it'd be that crafty bitch.

That conversation goes about as well as Dean would expect; uncomfortable and infuriating in turns. Sam is angry and defensive at the suggestion that he's shacking up with a demon (again), Dean's confused and a little alarmed because Sam keeps dropping hints at something Dean can't make sense of.

"This has nothing to do with _me_, Dean!" Sam yells, pushing a hand through his hair like he's out of options and floundering for something to say. "I just want a little space. I want to sleep without Castiel standing right there, just...watching."

"You're pulling this crap because you got a problem with Cas? Look, I know the whole staring and not sleeping thing is a little creepy, but c'mon. We gotta stick together. And it can't exactly hurt to have an angel standing guard while we catch some shut-eye, can it?" Totally reasonable if you ask him.

Sam pauses. "What about Cas?"

"What about him? He doesn't sleep, and besides, I'm pretty sure he likes to watch." Dean waggles his eyebrows.

"Aw, dude, gross."

Sometimes it's just too easy.

*

Except, for some unknown reason Castiel ends up taking Sam's side. Dean doesn't know when they formed this secret alliance, but he's not liking it.

"You are both grown men, you need space to actualize your independent personalities." Castiel reasons later that night, while Sam is next door in his own room. Dean's already lost the battle.

"Remind me not to let you watch any more Dr. Phil."

Castiel cocks his head and his eyebrows twitch, but he doesn't reply.

It turns out he shouldn't really have complained. For some reason he can't pin down, he sleeps better that night than he can ever remember. He's warm and relaxed, and comfortable in a way he can't describe.

Dean wakes up the next morning with Castiel sitting on the other side of the bed with one hand resting on Dean's shoulder. He only has a second to register the tickle in his nose before he's off on another fit of sneezing. Castiel snatches his hand away as Dean sits up and cups his hands over his mouth.

"-cho! seriously what -aCHOO- the _fuck?_" Dean gasps out between sneezes.

Castiel backs away to grab the tissues from the bathroom. Looks at Dean and considers. "Perhaps you are allergic to down?"

Dean scrubs at his nose with the tissue; he's getting really sick of this.

"Whatever these pillows and covers are made of, I can assure you it ain't 'down.' "

Castiel hums, looking unconvinced.

*

It falls into a pattern. Every night they score two rooms, side by side. Sam takes one, Dean takes the other, and Castiel spends the night sitting on the edge of Dean's bed. He's tried to dissuade Castiel from doing that, points out that there are perfectly good chairs in the room, hell, even a whole other bed.

But Castiel apparently goes deaf every time he brings it up, staring at Dean like he can't comprehend anything that he's saying and then changing the subject the second Dean stops talking.

It's a little awkward on the mornings when he wakes up hard, which seems to be happening more and more often nowadays. But he's been living in close quarters with Sammy his whole life; if anyone can deal with a little morning wood and an angel with no concept of personal space then it's him.

Every morning he wakes up sneezing.

The Benadryl doesn't help at all, he starts palming the pills instead of swallowing them when Castiel tries to push them on him. The fits always pass quickly enough, they're usually over before Castiel even returns from fetching the tissues from the bathroom.

Sam and Castiel try every trick in the book, completely ignoring Dean's protests that they really have more important things to think about. They swap out the motel sheets with hypoallergenic ones, which accomplishes absolutely nothing. Sam buys a portable air purifier, helps Castiel set it up right next to the bed where it hums all night and threatens to drive Dean nuts.

Dean is half convinced it's become a game to them, something stupid and inconsequential they can focus on instead of big scary things like the apocalypse and hell-on-earth.

Except, they pursue it with a single mindedness that has Dean a little bit worried. Dean catches them having whispered discussions and heated debates where Sam looks concerned and Castiel looks almost sad. They're both putting far too much energy and thought into this.

"Guys, seriously. It's not that big a deal."

Sam and Castiel both look at him like he's an idiot.

Dean guesses he should be thankful; Sam on a hypoallergenic crusade with an angel is better than Sam sneaking off to suck demon blood, right? He lets it go, eventually they'll get bored of this. He hopes.

*

A few weeks later, they've had no new leads on the magic knife and no progress on the sneezing-fit thing either. Because somehow his life got fucked up enough that he lists those two problems on the same priority level. Lucifer would be pissed to know that he ranked just as high as excess snot.

What's worse is that Castiel is looking ragged. Dean isn't surprised, they're all a little rough around the edges these days; too much ground to cover and too little sleep.

But Castiel looks worse than Sam and Dean combined, and an angel shouldn't need to sleep. 'Shouldn't' being the operative word, because with every day that passes Castiel looses a little of his mojo. Enough that he stops pulling the magic seamstress business on his suit and trench coat and swaps them out with regular clothes he buys from the salvation army. It kills Dean to watch him, slowly turning into the lost, faithless man he'd seen in that bleak future.

So one night just after he flicks off the light, Dean reaches over and tugs Castiel down with him. Castiel lays across the bed at an awkward angle, feet hanging off the side and watching Dean with wide eyes.

"It's called sleep. You should try it." Dean explains and closes his eyes.

After that, they sleep together every night. There are usually two beds in the room, requested out of habit if nothing else, but Castiel always bunks with him and Dean doesn't bother to question it. He figures it's some kind of guardian angel thing.

Maybe more like a baby duck, Dean snorts, Castiel imprinted on him at first sight and now they're both stuck with each other for life. (_"Are you coming?" "Of course"_ like there's no other option for him but to follow.)

Dean blocks out that memory before it can get too far because, _no_. That is not their future.

*

He's coming back from a dinner run, standing just outside Sam's motel room and stops when he catches a bit of the conversation going on inside.

"Cas, you gotta go for it. Stop being such a coward."

"I am not a coward, Samuel. Dean has given no indication that the interest is mutual."

"He shares a room with you, lets you sleep in his bed. He _trusts_ you. And, no disrespect to your tastes or anything, but...he's not exactly a prude."

Dean opens the door and walks in. "Who's a prude? Aw Sammy, you holding your celibacy advocates anonymous meetings again?"

Sam clenches his jaw but doesn't rise to the bait, keeps his voice steady as he replies. "Yeah, 'cause I've heard you and Cas having some wild times next door. I didn't know your voice went that high."

Dean splutters. Sam looks amused and Castiel looks oddly panicked.

"Eat your food, bitch." Dean says as he drops the paper bag on the table. "Touch my chili fries and die!" He adds as he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. Dean leans over the sink, washes his hands as an excuse to take a moment to think. What the hell is going on here?

*

He finds out later that night, when just after he turns off the lights he feels Castiel press dry lips against the corner of his mouth. It only lasts a second before Castiel pulls away. Dean stares at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to adjust and his life to make sense.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"What's goin' on?" Dean shifts up on one elbow, squints to try and make out Castiel's form in the dark.

"Was that not correct? Sam tried to explain it to me, but he refused to give any practical demonstrations. I can try again- "

"Try wh-" is all Dean gets out before Castiel is on him again. He actually hits his target straight on this time, chapped lips pressing against his own for a little longer this time before Castiel pulls away. His eyes have started to adjust, when he opens them he can make out Castiel's face just inches away. Castiel blinks, eyes guileless.

"That was. Uh. That was better," Dean rasps out.

Castiel smiles like he's accomplished something huge. Then he pulls away and rolls back to his own side of the bed.

"Wait. That's it?" Dean sits up. "You did _not_ just kiss me goodnight like we're an old married couple."

"I thought you would be more comfortable if we proceeded slowly."

"It's the freakin' apocalypse; I'm okay with fast if you are." Castiel nods, barest hint of a smile back on his lips. "Right then, fuck 'slowly.' "

*

Despite what he says, Dean can't quite jump in right away.

They spend nights rutting against each others' hips, still clothed and kissing desperately. Dean slowly teaches Castiel how to open up to him, licking at his lips and then inside until Castiel gets the idea and returns in kind. Even then, Castiel is oddly restrained, which is enough to convince Dean that they really should proceed with caution.

During the day they're the same as always; maybe a little less awkward with each other, which comes as kind of a surprise. Sam spends a week grinning like a loon and making lame cracks ('Get any research done last night?') That is, until the shine wears off and then he's just irritated and complains about being forced to listen to them through the walls every night. Dean digs Sam's ipod out of his duffel and presses it to his chest with a grin.

"Oh look, problem solved."

Sam rolls his eyes but stops complaining. Mostly.

*

The first time Dean reaches inside his pants, Castiel's eyes go wide and he breathes out 'oh, God.'

"You sure you wanna bring your father into this?" Dean teases, but he drinks in every sound that escapes Castiel's lips.

Castiel groans and tries to hide his face in the pillow but Dean tugs the pillow away with his free hand. He cups Castiel's face and leans in for another kiss. Castiel lets go, comes in Dean's hand with his pants trapped around his knees.

There's a crackle of static in the air that makes the hair on Dean's arms stand up. He looks down at Castiel, who's loose-limbed on the bed underneath him and still recovering.

He sneezes.

*

"No, no, I really don't need to know the details. You should be talking to him about this."

"There is nothing to discuss."

"Then why are you talking to me about it? I wish you both all the best, but I really don't need a blow by blow of my brother's sex life."

"I wanted to know if you had any more suggestions. If not, I will just have to learn to control it."

"Sorry, I'm out of ideas. But um, good luck with that."

*

Castiel has been avoiding him. Well, as much as it's possible when they spend all day in the car together and every night in the same bed. It might be more accurate to say he's avoiding being alone and conscious with Dean; Sam's in the car with them during the day and Castiel's been feigning sleep within seconds of slipping into bed every night.

Unfortunately for him, Castiel isn't very good at it.

After three days of this Dean decides to face it head-on. He pokes at Castiel's side until he gives up the ruse and opens his eyes. Castiel looks worried. Dean sighs.

"I'm not gonna make this hard on you, I swear. You want out, it's fine. I'm not mad." He tries to reassure Castiel. He holds his breath. He's telling the truth; he isn't angry. But that doesn't mean it won't hurt like hell to give this up.

Castiel is quiet for a long moment.

"I have figured out the reason for your sneezing problem," Castiel admits.

O-okay, subject change much? But Dean stays silent, waiting for some crazy twist of angel logic that will make this make sense.

"It's me."

"It's you," Dean deadpans.

"Yes."

"That makes perfect sense. Of course, why didn't I see it before?" Sarcasm is completely lost on the angel. "Okay Sherlock, so why am I not sneezing right now?"

Castiel mumbles an answer, too low to hear.

"Come again?" Dean asks, reaching out to tip Castiel's chin up so he can look him in the eye.

"One of our initial theories was correct; you are allergic to something similar to down."

"Ah." Dean thinks for a moment, then leans back and pulls down the covers. He looks up and down Castiel's body, clad only in a pair of dark blue boxers. "Hate to break it to you dude, but I don't see any feathers."

"They're metaphysical, " Castiel mumbles. "You only saw the shadow of them that day in the barn; a latent image reflected on the ceiling of the barn."

"So, what you're saying is I'm allergic to your _metaphysical_ feathers."

"Yes."

"Shit." Dean replies.

"Yes."

"Why aren't I sneezing right now?" Castiel sits up, a little more at ease now that everything is out in the open.

"They are usually contained, but sometimes it is difficult. When I am fighting, or when things are ...intense."

"Intense how?"

Castiel blushes.

"Oh. _Oh._"

*

They work on it over the next few weeks, try every half-plausible or ridiculous thing they can think of. Castiel focuses on holding his wings inside until he's blue in the ...well.

The final verdict is that Castiel simply can't come without unfurling his wings, whether he wants to or not.

Dean hits a grocery store and picks up every kind of antihistamine he can find. They blow through Benadryl, Clariton, Zyrtec, and at least a half dozen others. Nothing works, and anything stronger that Dean lifts from a pharmacy knocks him out and leaves him bleary eyed an numb.

Allegra makes him dizzy; he almost pokes Castiel in the eye trying to reach for his face. Clarinex makes him fall asleep. He wakes up slumped on top of Castiel, one of Castiel's hands tangled in his hair.

"Did I...?"

"Yes."

"_Dammit._"

He even tries wearing a surgical mask, but apparently metaphysical allergies can pass through regular-old-physical masks, because it doesn't help for shit.

Not to mention that the sight of it sends Castiel into an honest-to-god fit of giggles so strong he actually snorts.

After that particularly ego-damaging experience, they give up. They accept Dean's sneezing fits as a matter of course; start keeping a box of tissues by the bed. They keep a smaller pack in the glove compartment too, for those happy occasions when Sam is off doing research solo and they have the impala all to themselves.

Sam pretends not to notice. But someone adds a little spray bottle of purell to the glove box and one of those cheesy air fresheners shows up hanging from the rearview mirror.

They deal.


End file.
